


Overtures

by SLWalker



Series: Midnight Blue [1]
Category: Midnight Blue - Fandom, due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: 1987:  What do you do with a spiny new Corporal on Christmas?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another older one I wrote but oddly never posted.

Sometimes, Russ Severn had the strangest urge to just reach over and smooth a hand down Corporal Chase's upper back. It took him awhile, but he finally realized what it was: He wanted to literally pat those hackles down. Four months since his transfer from the LMD to Nipawin, and Mike Chase was still bristling.

Russ didn't quite get it. Nipawin was downright restful compared to most of the places he had been stationed. It was a nice little town, where their actions made a positive difference. Even though they were undermanned, they managed. And now, with snow falling softly to the ground and lights adorning windows and eves, Russ really couldn't quite get why Chase wouldn't be at least somewhat charmed by the idyllic scene.

But no. His new corporal was sitting at his desk, staring moodily out into the falling snow, only bothering with the obligatory, "Staff," before falling quiet again. Russ half-expected a snappy comment about how Chase didn't need babysat, that he was perfectly fine handling the detachment single-handedly. There were times when he was sure that his teenage daughters at their worst had given him less trouble than this one Mountie gave him now.

He shook his head to himself with a little smile and went to kick the snow off of his boots. No sense in tracking it through. "Quiet night."

Chase just nodded, face getting somehow _more_ sullen.

It wasn't that Russ didn't understand _some_ things. Like what it took for a Mountie to volunteer to work both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Chase probably had nothing better to do with himself than work; he wasn't married, had no children, hadn't yet made friends with anyone. It was likely down to a choice between brooding alone in an undecorated, quiet apartment or maybe keeping busy on duty.

Russ carefully balanced the plate he carried on one hand and headed over to where the coffee was cooking into it's sixth or seventh hour, given the consistency. Flipped it off, and then went to make a cup of hot cocoa instead. Sure, it was just the powdered stuff, but it was better than more coffee.

He could feel the occasional glance he got. He wasn't supposed to be here; he was supposed to be at home, enjoying the post-Christmas dinner evening, stuffed with food and relaxing with his family. He waited to see if Chase would say that, but apparently, the insubordination was on hold for the moment. Good of the man to be charitable on Christmas, but Russ probably would have preferred the guff.

He finished stirring the cocoa together with the hot water, then took the plate over to set in front of Chase, pulling the foil off. Still plenty warm from the table; Russ had his wife reheat it right before he headed out on this little errand in either mercy or futility, hopefully neither.

Chase eyed him, frowning. "I'm fine."

"I noticed," Russ said, patiently, setting the cocoa beside the plate. "But since nothing's open, I recommend the ham."

Chase stared at him, looking like he wanted to open his mouth and say something, probably something snippy or defiant, then his mustache twitched and he turned to the plate, muttering a gruff, "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas, Mike," Russ said, and finally gave into the urge to give that backpat. It was met with a stiffen and a baffled glance, but hell, one step at a time.

Russ headed for the door with a little smile, and stepped out into the falling snow.


End file.
